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“My government doesn’t make chemical weapons.”
“So you claim. We have evidence that says otherwise.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“A clandestine lab running experiments, funded by shell companies. We’ve known about it for a while. Maybe you could shed some light on why you decided to act now with this public demonstration. Do you have buyers gathered here in Berlin?”
“This was not a demonstration,” I said, angrily. “This was a murder. And I had nothing to do with it.”
“I know you’re not trying to insult my intelligence, Samantha, but look at it from my point of view. You’re right at the center of this incident.”
“Listen, I’m going to be dead in less than a day, Oleg. If I did this, then I really wasn’t thinking ahead.”
“So, you’re saying your government set you up? You can prove it?”
“I can’t prove anything at this point,” I said. “But let me tell you something. I left the employment of the CIA around the same time I met my husband. I’m starting to believe that my superiors didn’t like the idea of me leaving.”
Oleg shook his head. “That doesn’t make much sense. A sloppy attack on foreign soil, with the potential for collateral damage? No. There are many ways your superiors could have punished you. This strikes me as a foolish option.”
He was right, of course. Quentin used to relish detailing the numerous ways he could kill me, some of them downright surprising and gruesome. It was his way of teaching me to keep my eyes open for any possible threat. Plus, I think he got a big kick out of it. (He was always a little weird that way.) But of all of the methods he’d name, this would never be one of them. Because itwassloppy. Because there was way too much room for error.
But if Iwasthe target, and the Russiansweren’tto blame… then what piece was I missing?
“Help me find the truth.”
“You want my help?” Oleg said with a smile. “What could I possibly do for you?”
“If what you’ve already told me is true, I can eliminate the entire Russian government as suspects. I’d like you to let me walk out of here so I can find the people actually responsible.”
“Just let you walk out? You engaged my agents in a firefight so we could have this chat. Good men are in the hospital.”
“I didn’t know my trigger-happy ex-colleague would open fire. I was hoping my surrender to your men would be a little more… civilized. Did she take anyone out of the game for good?”
“No. Your ex-colleague—if that’s indeed what she is—happens to be an excellent shot.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I don’t want any more death on my conscience.”
Oleg studied me for a while. Maybe he could sense that I was telling the truth. Maybe he sympathized with me. Maybe he was running scenarios in his head. There was virtually no downside to what I was suggesting, and it might mean justice for the murder of two Russian citizens.
“Go, then,” he finally said.
“Thank you, Oleg. I do have one last favor to ask.”
“What else may we do for you, Samantha Bell?” The very suggestion seemed to amuse him. What other favor could I be asking him? For weapons? Surveillance gear? Possibly a vehicle? A war plane? All of the above?
“Could I get some clean underwear? I’ve been wearing the same ones for a while.”
Oleg laughed.
CHAPTER 27
THE GOOD NEWS: I was free on the bustling streets of Berlin once again. The bad news: I had no idea where the hell I was. The even worse news: I had less than a day to live. It could even be down to a few hours.
I’ll admit that a small part of me clung to the desperate belief this was all just a nightmare. Any second now, I would jolt awake in Kevin’s arms, and over breakfast I’d tell him about this deliriously horrible dream I had—how my years as a spy finally caught up with me.
Please, let me wake up now. I’ve had enough.
Instead, I was stuck in this strange purgatory. Walking down unfamiliar streets, with no watch, wallet, or phone, no identification or cash, wearing shiny athletic gear donated by Russian intelligence agents.
